


Various short Doctor Who fics

by aralias



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: April Showers 2015, Community: remixthedrabble, Drabble Collection, M/M, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2008-05-27
Updated: 2011-10-28
Packaged: 2018-03-21 01:59:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 6,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3673287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/aralias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few Doctor Who gen drabbles including RemixtheDrabble entries, and a few Time Stamp meme entries (mostly D/M).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Different Man (Donna, Nine)

**Author's Note:**

> Uploading old fic for April Showers 2015. All spelling/grammar errors (and my weird paragraphing) left as originally posted.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written 27 May 2008 
> 
> Donna meets Nine (which feels like the beginning of a 'five times donna met the doctor without realising it', but isn't).
> 
> set, on the one hand, after runaway bride whilst donna's investigating stuff and, on the other, before rose whilst the doctor's wandering around, poking his nose into other people's business.

“What do you mean, I don’t look like a security guard?”  
“Well, that leather jacket’s not exactly very official, is it?” Donna says, giving the intruder a hard stare. “You don’t even have a badge.”  
“Course I do,” the man says. He holds out a small wallet. “One badge. There you go.”  
Donna looks at it briefly. “That’s not a badge,” she says. “It’s just a bit of paper that says,  _where have all the bees gone?_ ”  
“Ah.”  
“You’re not a security guard.”  
“Nope. Worth looking into, though - that bee thing.” He grins and heads for the door. “Bye then.”


	2. Another Girl (Martha)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written 22 June 2009.
> 
> Prompted by hedgerows, i also wrote Martha's thoughts upon meeting Donna.

It was a lie – saying she should have known. She had known. She and Jack – those who’d left, rather than been left or lost – had even laughed about the Doctor’s complete inability to remain alone, though they’d both been expecting a blonde. A bright young thing with a bright young smile, who held his hand whilst they ran away from explosions, laughing. A replacement.  
  
Donna doesn’t look like the perky hand-holding type and Martha smiles – at the Doctor’s continuing ability to surprise her, at the thought of telling Jack and because she isn’t jealous at all.


	3. I Forgive You (The Remember the Axons Remix) Ten/Simm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written 22 June 2009.
> 
> Remix of [Give Up The Ghost](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4502) by iamsab

He is always so eager to believe.  _I’m yours,_  the Doctor says,  _I surrender. I surrender._  And the Master believes him.  _After all, we are both Time Lords._  
  
 _I forgive you,_  the Doctor says, after his promise is broken. The Master believes that, too, though he knows it is - like all the Doctor’s speeches - a trap.  _I forgive you_  is a call and response phrase, like  _I love you._  It demands an answer: an accession of guilt or, knowing the Doctor,  _And I you._  
  
But the Master doesn’t forgive and he doesn’t lie as well as the Doctor.


	4. Millipede (The Bones of the Hand Remix) (Ten, Martha)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written 22 June 2009 
> 
> Remix of [Skeletons](http://studyofrunning.livejournal.com/5072.html) by studyofrunning

With the hand not holding Martha’s, the Doctor points at a pale, alien skeleton behind glass. “Now this, Miss Jones, is what’s known as a Sandadian hopping possum. Grows a new leg every year: marvellous animal. And that is a  _beautiful_  archifunga. Oh, and  _that_ -”  
  
Carpal bones, Martha thinks, as the Doctor yanks her over to another display. Then the metacarpal bones extending in three distinct phalanges: the bones of the human hand pressing into hers through the Doctor’s skin – alien skin. Over bones as alien as the possum’s. If he had 900 legs it’d be easier to remember that.


	5. Daring-doo and sadness (The Shade's Remix) (Ten)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written 27 October 2009. 
> 
> Remix of [Flying, not falling](http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=28817) by clocketpatch

Some companions force themselves on him – he only learns to love them later; others he tests before allowing aboard. But there are some he has always known without knowing: it’s just a matter of their time-lines intersecting at last. Astrid Peth is one of these. The Doctor knows immediately that she is his. He takes his beautiful new Astrid to an alien planet, knowing it is the first of many.  
  
But then she falls.  
  
Grieving for more than a passing acquaintance, the Doctor turns Astrid to stardust. Only the sight of his beautiful old TARDIS consoles him after that.


	6. Away, Travelling (The ‘Through the Telescope’ Remix) (Evelyn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written 27 October 2009.
> 
> Remix of [Searching](http://purple-bug.livejournal.com/216834.html) by purple_bug

It felt very strange to be looking at Saturn from so far away. Only last month the Doctor had taken her to its outer ring and the New Crystal Palace. It had been beautiful up close, but it was beautiful now, too. Evelyn breathed a quiet exclamation of wonder.  
  
It felt very strange to be sitting in a Chiswick allotment with a cup of cocoa and a nice man in about the right time-period. A good sort of strange, though, like the Doctor.  
  
 _Maybe_ , Evelyn thought as she had not done in so long. Maybe she would come back eventually.


	7. Helicopters (Two/WarChief!Master, Susan, Sharon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time stamp meme response. Written 16 September 2010 for bichaan.
> 
> [The Grandparent Trap](http://archiveofourown.org/works/187831), one regeneration on.

“Ah, yes,” the Doctor said relieved. “Yes. That’s very good. We look almost like a proper family, don’t we? Susan, come and see this.”   
  
The young woman who answered to the name ‘Susan’ most of the time abandoned the diagram she had been examining and joined her grandfather next the canvas.   
  
“He’s captured you very well,” the Doctor said pointing at the picture.   
  
“Oh grandfather - that’s Sharon.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Susan. Is it really?” the Doctor said. He leaned closer, his gaze flicking between the two identical girls depicted in the painting. “I could have sworn-”   
  
Susan laughed and pulled him gently back into an upright position. “I’m only teasing,” she told him. “It is me, and he’s done a wonderful job. I don’t think much of his helicopter design, though. It’ll never get off the ground.”  
  
“Yes, I wouldn’t mention that, if I were you,” the Doctor said looking out into the garden where the great artist was strolling with the Doctor’s husband and his other granddaughter. “He’s quite sensitive about it. Just say how much you like the painting, and the revolving bridge…” Outside the Master, who seemed to have an eighth sense that told him when he was being watched, looked up and the Doctor waved cheerfully at him. “The self propelling car was excellent, too,” he continued, as the Master indicated they should return to the studio, “far, far ahead of its time.”  
  
As the Master and the others approached, he opened the door onto Da Vinci’s garden.   
  
“… Have you considered a coaxial rotor powered by a spring?” the Master was saying. “I believe that would give you the power you require. Ah, Doctor,” he said, seeing the Doctor glaring at him from the doorway. “I was just telling Mr Da Vinci how he could improve his helicopter.”   
  
“Your friend is an genius,” Leonardo informed the Doctor as he entered, “which is something coming from me. Susan, could you pass me some of that paper? I must write this down before I- Oh, where is a- This is typical. Quills, quills everywhere, until you actually need one.”   
  
“Did you hear that?” the Master asked sliding an arm around the Doctor’s waist as Da Vinci hurried out of the room.   
  
“I heard you being very irresponsible,” the Doctor told him. “It’s little wonder, is it, that we’re tracked across time and space by the Celestial Intervention Agency, if you keep telling important historical figures things they shouldn’t know. Now we’ll have to leave, and they’ll probably wipe Leo’s memory. Hardly a, er, suitable thank you for painting such a lovely picture of us.”  
  
“Well, it’s not bad,” Sharon said from over by the painting, “but I still think a computer would have been more accurate – and much faster.”   
  
“That’s not the point at all,” the Doctor said extracting himself from the Master’s grasp. “This is a masterpiece, isn’t it, Susan?”  
  
The Master laughed. “My dear Doctor, that is a subjective term. The Mona Lisa is perhaps a masterpiece, your family portrait is not – no matter who painted it.”  
  
“Perhaps it would be if you’d shaved off those ridiculous sideburns as I requested,” the Doctor told him tartly. “Come on, girls. We should go before the CIA arrive. Susan, you take the painting – that’s right. I’ll just leave a little something for Leo…”  
  
A few moments later there was a wheezing sound loud enough to be heard three rooms away where Leonardo da Vinci had just located something he could write with. When he returned to his studio, he found the TARDIS and the picture he had painted of the Doctor’s family had gone. Perched where it had been on the easel was small model of what could only be a helicopter, and a note that said “Don’t mention this to anyone, will you? And if a couple of men in big collars arrive asking after us, remember: we were never here.”  
  
When Da Vinci touched it, the small machine rose gently out of his hands into the air under the power of its own rotors.   
  
“Genius,” Da Vinci chuckled, catching the device before it flew beyond his reach. It stopped immediately, and he put it carefully in the box where he kept all the anachronistic toys the Doctor had given him over the years, before going back to work. 


	8. Prologue to the Personal History of David Theta etc (Five/Ainley)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time stamp meme response. Written 16 September 2010 for x_los.
> 
> Prologue to [The Personal History, Adventures, Experience and Observation of David Theta of Houses Lungbarrow and Oakden (as related by his father, and not meant for publication). Chapter One.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/187829)

“I  _love_  you,” the Doctor said thickly.   
  
The Master smiled and adjusted the Doctor’s weight against his shoulder. “I see.”  
  
“I  _do,_ ” the Doctor said. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I-” he paused, and considered the situation, “I am completely smashed. Aren’t I? Master, you’d tell me the truth, wouldn’t you?” He leant heavily against the side of his TARDIS, which they’d just reached. “Where’s my key?”  
  
“I imagine it’s in one of your pockets,” the Master told him.   
  
The Doctor made a few ineffective attempts at reaching the key, and then slumped slowly to the floor. “No,” he said, once he’d reached it, “it’s no good. Sleeping outside tonight, I think. Come on-” he made a surprised noise as the Master pulled him back to his feet, and another as the Master inserted a hand into his inner pocket. “In public?” he murmured, head lolling back against the blue painted wood. “ _Master_ -”  
  
“We’re going inside.” By this point the Master had located the key, and he now twisted it firmly in the lock. The door swung open, and the Doctor, who had been leaning against it, would have fallen if the Master hadn’t grabbed him, and lowered him gently to the floor of his own console room.   
  
Stepping over the Doctor, the Master shut the TARDIS doors on the Parisian landscape they'd just left. He was about to push the TARDIS into flight when the top of the Doctor’s head appeared over the edge of the console, followed by a hand, and then the rest of him.   
  
“Right,” the Doctor said, “where are we going next?” He made an impressive stab at a button, and missed. “The night is young! And-”  
  
“You’re going to bed,” the Master said, catching the Doctor’s hand before he could give button pressing a second chance.   
  
The Doctor looked at him in charming confusion. Half of his hair was sticking up at an alarming angle. “I am?”  
  
“Yes,” the Master assured him, guiding him out of the console room, and towards a bedroom. “And so am I.” He was much better at holding his liquor than the Doctor (clearly those nights of melancholy drinking each time the third Doctor had rejected his offers of partnership had been good for something), but after six bottles of champagne even he was beginning to feel a little the worse for wear.   
  
“That’s good,” the Doctor said. “Actually, now you mention it, I am quite sleepy…” He hit the mattress without seeming to notice the change in orientation, and the Master left him there and went back to set the TARDIS in flight.   
  
When he returned to the bedroom, he saw that the Doctor had found the strength and inclination to take off his shoes. It was broadly possible his system had begun to process the alcohol properly, but he gestured so wildly with his arms, indicating that the Master should join him, that the Master discarded this theory.  
  
Removing his jacket, he got into bed beside the Doctor.   
  
“I love you,” the Doctor murmured drunkenly in his ear. “And I love Paris. And I love you. And I love-”  
  
“Doctor, can I ask you something?”   
  
“I don’t want to rule the universe,” the Doctor mumbled. “I want to see-”  
  
“Something else,” the Master persisted. “These last three months have been wonderful-”  
  
“Yes,” the Doctor said. “I love-”  
  
“What if we had a child together?” the Master asked. If he’d been asked four months ago what the likely hood of him cutting the Doctor off in the middle of a declaration of undying love would be, he’d have said none at all. But this was more important than words. Words could all too easily be taken back, TARDISes that were currently intertwined could be disconnected. A child, though - a child would keep them together forever. “Wouldn’t that be nice?” the Master pressed, stroking the Doctor’s hair.   
  
“Nice,” the Doctor repeated. “Yes.” He yawned. “Whatever you want, Master. Except,” he said more strongly, “the universe. I don’t want to rule the universe.”  
  
“Nobody’s asking you to,” the Master assured him. Smiling he wrapped himself around the Doctor. “Go to sleep. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”


	9. What Shall We Do Today? (Eight/Jacobi, Romana)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time stamp meme response. Written 16 September 2010 for birdarecalling and x_los.
> 
> Epilogue to [Wonderwall/Masterplan](http://archiveofourown.org/series/7693). Racier than the others (probably more like an R).

Over the last six days, it has become somewhat of a ritual. The Doctor wakes at seven – the summerhouse’s flimsy curtains keep out none of the morning light – and pulls the equally thin sheet over his head. Under the sheet, he paws at the still-sleeping Master until he stops sleeping, gets up, makes some tea and brings it back. At this point the Doctor sits up, takes the tea, kisses the Master and then one of them asks the question.   
  
By unspoken agreement, they take it in turns. For the first four days this provides little variation (except in position), but on the fifth the Doctor breaks the cycle by suggesting they “watch all the good Star Wars films  _as well as_  having sex”. He can tell the Master is a little miffed by the change in scheduling, because he makes a variety of unkind comments about the Ewoks, and uses the sixth day to suggest “a chess tournament with sexual favours for winner”. Consequently, the Doctor spends the sixth day alternately losing games of chess and licking bits of the Master.   
  
On the seventh day, as the Doctor sips his morning Earl Grey, the Master performs his part of the ritual and asks, “So, Doctor - what shall we do today?”  
  
The Doctor takes a larger mouthful of tea and swills it around his mouth thoughtfully before replying. “Well, we have to go back to Gallifrey and get your TARDIS.”   
  
The Master waits for a moment, and then prompts, “ _And?_ ”  
  
“And then we have to take Romana out for lunch,” the Doctor says. “As long as she’s not too busy. They have just had that war, haven’t they? There are probably plenty of very important, very dull things to do, which we’ll probably have to avoid helping with, and then, I don’t know, we could go to the opera.”   
  
“The opera,” the Master repeats.   
  
“I thought you liked the opera,” the Doctor says with a hurt expression. “What about Madam Butterfly? I just feel like we’re getting into a rut here, don’t you?”   
  
But the Master is canny enough to spot a trap when he sees one. He merely smiles and kisses the Doctor on the forehead. “We’ll do whatever you want,” he says, “today,” and goes off to take for a shower.  
  
They arrive on Gallifrey about an hour later. It already looks better, if only because some of the people they pass in the corridors are smiling and sky outside isn’t full of Daleks. At one point the Doctor spots Narvin, the co-ordinator of the CIA striding purposefully down the corridor and has to pull the Master into an alcove to avoid being seen, but largely they reach Romana’s office without incident.   
  
“Do come in, Doctor,” Romana says at the Doctor’s smart knock.   
  
“That’s very impressive,” he says opening the door.   
  
“Nobody else on the planet would ignore the large ‘Do not disturb sign’ outside,” Romana says without looking up from the large pile of paperwork on her desk. “Besides, that arrived for the Master this morning.” She points to her left where a large stone column is standing incongruously next to the table where not too long ago the three of them sat debating the future of the universe and eating funny coloured biscuits.   
  
“Go on,” the Doctor says, when the Master doesn’t immediately move to reclaim his property. “I’m sure Romana and I will be fine out here without a chaperone for a few spans.”   
  
The Master gives him a wry look, but disappears into his ship without a word – it is the Doctor’s day, after all.   
  
“Paris?” the Doctor asks Romana, sitting on the edge of her desk. “You, me, the Master, lots of wine. It’ll be wonderful. Just like old times, except my slightly psychotic husband will actually be at the table rather than monitoring us from his TARDIS.”   
  
“There has just been a war,” Romana reminds him. “I have things to do-”  
  
“What things?” the Doctor asks, as though the suggestion that the president of Gallifrey has work to do is absolutely absurd. “This paperwork? K-9 can do it, can’t you K-9? K-9? Where are you?”   
  
“Master?” the little dog chirps.   
  
“K-9,” the Doctor says seriously, bending down to speak to him, “the Madam President needs to go out on a very important mission to Paris. You can fill these in for her, can’t you?” He sweeps a large quantity of Romana’s papers onto the floor in front of K-9.   
  
“Negative, Master-”  
  
“No, of course not,” the Doctor says soothingly, “you don’t have a pen. Here you go.” He props one up against K-9’s metal side.   
  
“’Pen’ is not compatible with this unit’s primary systems,” K-9 protests, but the Doctor is already half way across the room to the Master’s TARDIS.   
  
“You’re coming to Paris,” he tells Romana, who smiles despairingly at him. “You have ten microspans to change into something with a smaller collar. I’ll be back in a moment.”   
  
“Slightly psychotic?” the Master asks, as the doors swing shut behind the Doctor.  
  
“Well, you were watching,” the Doctor says. “How is she? The TARDIS, not Romana, who is coming to Paris, by the way, in case you tuned out after the good bit.”  
  
The Master holds up a selection of wires, which look like they were previously part of the lighting circuit, and drops them back on the console. “They’ve made a complete mess of everything, of course, but I think it’s all basically repairable.”   
  
“Good to hear,” the Doctor says, and pushes him back against the console. In the last week he’s regained the knack of making the Master come as quickly or as slowly as is required. In five microspans he’s grinning and wiping the Master’s semen of his hands onto a large white handkerchief.   
  
“That’s wasn’t on the schedule,” the Master points out lazily.   
  
“I thought it was time to shake things up,” the Doctor tells him. “We wouldn’t want to be a rut now, would we?”   
  
“Please tell me you haven’t just had sex in the middle of my office,” Romana says when they emerge. In a nod to their youthful frolicking, she has chosen a black suit and white shirt much like her old school uniform. The straw hat is notable by its absence, but then so is the Doctor’s scarf.  
  
The Master frowns. “Whatever makes you think that, my dear?”  
  
“The lewd wink the Doctor just gave me was one fairly un-subtle clue,” Romana says with a sigh. “You’re both terrible. I never have this sort of trouble with Narvin.”   
  
“That’s why he’s not invited to lunch,” the Doctor says seizing her hand and beaming. “Troublemakers only. Paris here we come!”  
  
“All right, but I’m driving,” Romana says firmly, as they close the doors on her office and K-9's plaintive objections. 


	10. Now We Are Very Young (Six, Peri, Donna, Wilf)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time stamp meme response. Written 16 September 2010 for janeturenne.
> 
> [When We Were Six](http://archiveofourown.org/works/187546), a sort of sequel set approximately 30 years later.

There were two strangers hanging around on Donna’s wedding day (well, her second wedding day. There were far more than two strangers hanging around on her first, thanks to that freaky gas leak). Two people unknown to either bride or groom. The woman wore a large blue hat, and the man– the man wore a multicoloured frockcoat that Donna realised she had seen once before.  
  
Cutting her mum off in mid-sentence, she strode over to the two weirdoes. “Anyone at my wedding need saving?”   
  
John Smith (who people generally called ‘The Doctor) beamed at her. “I didn’t think you’d remember me. ”  
  
“Not every day you get a ride in a spaceship, is it?” Donna pointed out. “Well,” she amended, considering who she was talking to, “not if you’re normal.”  
  
“Thanks,” the woman said dryly. She was American, Donna realised. She had forgotten that. “Go ahead. Tar me with the same brush.”   
  
“God - you both look exactly the same,” Donna said, because they did. “You haven't aged a day. You’re even wearing the same suit. Don’t you ever change?”   
  
“He doesn’t,” Peri said, in a voice that implied this was an issue between them.   
  
The Doctor looked wounded. “It’s a different waistcoat,” he said. “I put it on specially for the wedding.”  
  
“What I don’t get is how you knew when it was,” Donna said. “You haven’t been spying on me, have you?”  
  
“No, no. Our presence here is merely random happenstance,” the Doctor explained. “Peri and I had some business to attend to across the street-”  
  
“And by business,” Peri said, “he means a giant bat-”  
  
“-and having completed our affairs,” the Doctor continued, seeming not to hear this, “I looked across to this very pleasant little church yard where I recognised your mother from our short meeting all those years ago. I then saw you, deduced from your dress that this was your wedding day, and, remembering our encounter fondly, thought I’d stop by. It gave Peri an opportunity to wear her new hat.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Donna told Peri, “but I lost the pink one you gave me. And I never went to the planet of the hats, either.”  
  
“Well,” the Doctor said, slightly awkwardly, “you could. If you wanted to. I mean, you’re much older now-”  
  
“ _Watch it,_ ” Donna snapped.  
  
“What I mean is, you’re old enough that Peri won’t make a fuss,” the Doctor explained, “if you wanted go to the planet of the hats with us. My spaceship is just across the street…”   
  
Donna stared at him. “I’ve just got  _married,_ ” she said, in a tone that reminded him he was an idiot. “I’m not going to just run away on my wedding day. What sort of person do you think I am?”   
  
The Doctor muttered something that sounded like it might have been ‘plenty of other people have,’ if Peri hadn’t said, “Good for you” loudly over the top of him.  
  
“Besides,” Donna said, pulling the lottery ticket she’d been given by another strange man just ten minutes ago out of her cleavage, “what if I get lucky? I don’t think sterling is accepted in outer space.”   
  
“You’d be surprised,” Peri said. “A lot of space is basically England only with more tentacles.”  
  
“You know,” the Doctor said, peering at the ticket, “I think this just might be… ” He hummed annoyingly to himself rather than finishing the sentence, and Donna glared at him and stuffed the ticket back into her bra.   
  
“Maybe we should go,” Peri said. “Let you get back to the guests you actually invited.”   
  
“Right,” Donna said. “Thanks for visiting, spaceman. And for the- did you get me a present?”   
  
“The rhododendron on the gift table is from us,” the Doctor said.  
  
“Great,” Donna said. “A plant, thanks.”  
  
It was only once they’d gone that she realised it was the same plant the Doctor had pulled from her backpack when she was six. What a cheapskate.   
  
“Who was that you were talking to, sweetheart?” her gramps asked as she regarded the magic rhododendron.   
  
“ _That,_ ” Donna said, “was the Doctor. He wanted to know if I’d go travelling through space and time with him again. I turned him down.”   
  
Wilf’s face fell, but then, Donna thought, it was a pretty mad thing to say. Absolutely true, though. She remembered it perfectly.   
  
“Come on,” she said, taking his hand, “there’s a reception with my name on it. Literally. Let’s go be magnificent.” And she was.


	11. Poker (Eight/Jacobi)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time stamp meme response. Written October 24th, 2011 for neveralarch and elviaprose. 
> 
> Before and after [Across the Universe.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/186190)

The game”, Johnsmith said, “is poker.” He flipped cards around the table and a smile in the direction of the woman opposite whose name he hadn’t caught yet. She smiled back. 

“Five card draw, aces are wild. Socks and jackets”, Johnsmith continued, “are worth one, shirts and trousers two, and underwear three. Jewellery is not deemed by this house to be clothing and may be left on, except for Kitson’s full body bracelet, which we’ll count as a shirt-”

“ _Come on,_ ” his second in command protested. “It’s underwear if it’s anything.”

“Saying you wear a bra, then, Kits?” Barclay, another of Johnsmith’s boys, put in with a grin.

“Oh ha ha-”

“Gentlemen and ladies,” Johnsmith said, over ruling them, “place your first bets  _please._ ”

Yana arrived about thirty minutes after Johnsmith’s losing streak set in. 

“I, er, had a report of an electrical surge in this room,” he told them, with a glance in the direction of the steady electric lamp that was part wry awareness and part incredible awkwardness. 

“Faked!” Johnsmith proclaimed. Yana’s elaborate sigh could still be heard beneath the raucous laughter from the rest of the table. Johnsmith pushed a neighbouring chair outwards with a socked foot. He grinned up at Yana. “Take a seat.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know how to play,” Yana said. “And,” he added, “I have no interest in learning. You know what they say about old dogs.”

“They like to win?” Johnsmith offered. 

“Goodnight,” Yana said with a crooked half smile. 

Johnsmith got up to follow him, ignoring the catcalls that followed his naked butt. “Come on. Yana. I can teach you -” 

“ _You_  can?” Yana asked giving him a long look. “You don’t seem to be doing very well, John.” 

“I’ve still got my socks,” Johnsmith said. “Besides,” he lowered his voice and leant closer, “I’m playing to lose.”

Behind him Kitson and Barclay were still arguing about what it was they said about old dogs.

“Indeed?” Yana asked. “And why would-?”

“Excuse me, can I borrow this?” Johnsmith asked, taking Yana’s flashlight without asking. He hurled it back in the direction of the table where it hit the discard pile, startled the players, and rolled off the table. “It’s that they don’t learn new tricks, morons.”

Kitson’s face scrunched in confusion. “Is it? That doesn’t seem right.” 

Johnsmith turned back to share his eye roll with Yana but the professor had gone. 

*

“The game”, the Doctor said, “is poker. Five card draw, aces are wild. You have your chips. Winner takes home the psychic interference device, the doomsday weapon, and the big pile of money.”  
  
“That doess not sseem to be a fair exchange,” the Draconian pointed out.  
  
“No,” the Slitheen agreed. “What have you put forward, Doctor?”  
  
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, please.” The Doctor held up his hands. “I’m the dealer, and as the dealer I have put forward the cards, the lovely table on which we are playing-”  
  
“Outrageouss,” the Draconian spat.   
  
“Truly despicable,” agreed the Slitheen.   
  
“Why not offer them the clothes from your back?” suggested the fourth player, who had up until this point remained silent behind his beard, dark glasses, and large hat.   
  
The Doctor gave him a long look. Then, without a word, he stood up, removed his coat, and dropped it onto the table. The man in the hat smiled a crooked smile as the Doctor resumed his seat.   
  
“Gentlemen, your first bets,” he said, picking up his hand. “No haggling, no smack talk, no disintegrations, and remember – I play to win so do try to keep up.”


	12. A lack of subtlety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written 22 October 2007.

Life onboard the TARDIS was slowly, but surely, driving the Master mad. Of course, he had already been quite mad to begin with, but it had been a rational madness – vortex driven, drums pounding in his head. Now, everything was just  _silly_  and the Doctor was always laughing at him, which made it worse.

“You’re cheating.”

“Of course, I’m not,” the Doctor said, laughing some more. “In fact, if you remember, I warned you about attacking the Middle East. I said you couldn't hold Asia.”

The Master flicked one of his own blue men squarely between the Doctor’s eyes. “I’m not playing any more until we play a proper game,” he said, pushing the Risk board to one side.

It was just stupid. Infuriatingly obvious. If the universe wanted to mock him, it could at least do so with a little style; a little more subtly. 

“What about chess?” the Doctor offered, grinning. “Good enough for Death.”

“Better,” the Master agreed. 

He lost four games of chess, a game of scrabble and two of Guess Who before it all became too much to bear. Much more of this would crush his spirit completely. Thursday's game nights would have to go.

 


	13. Doctor/Master genre meme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> February 2016: 
> 
> Doctor/Master for this meme. I've done a Blake/Avon and a Deva one too, if you're interested. http://aralias.livejournal.com/833770.html
> 
> Give me a character or pairing and I will write snippets of ten different alternate universes for it (or more probably ONE of the below - so choose a favourite!). One line, ten lines, a ficlet if you're lucky.
> 
> Wild West  
> Cyberpunk  
> Shapeshifters  
> Pirates  
> …In SPACE!!  
> Born Another Gender  
> Schoolfic  
> Police/Firefighters  
> Urban Fantasy  
> Harem

**Born Another Gender** (Six Ainley)

“I’m not sure this is going to work,” Peri said doubtfully. 

“Well, what else is there to do?” The Doctor finished doing up the buttons of the mining jacket, finding it somewhat more difficult than she would admit to, because they were on the wrong side. “Do you want to send Professor Stevenson into mortal peril? When I, Perpagilium, am an adventurer and, more importantly, a master of disguise?” She turned to inspect herself in the mirror and found she looked exactly like herself in a really ugly jacket. Perhaps Peri had a point. “Besides,” she added, defensively, because she didn’t much like it when Peri had a point, “I haven’t finished.” 

“What, have you a got a fake moustache or something?” Peri asked, just as the Doctor held up a large, fake moustache. “Right,” Peri said. “What master of disguise would be without one?”

The Doctor gave her a cross look, and turned her attention to the tricky adhesive layer on the back of the moustache. Her long, perfectly manicured fingernails were green today. Some had called them impracticable, but the Doctor understood that such people had never really been adventurers. They didn’t need to constantly escape from dastardly villains, and so didn’t understand how useful a set of long fingernails was for jabbing said villains in the eyes with. Unfortunately they weren’t very good at peeling adhesive layers off fake moustaches. She struggled with it a moment longer, before Peri took the thing from her. 

“Here, let me.” With a brisk rip, Peri had the backing off and had pressed the moustache firmly onto the Doctor’s upper lip. “Perfect.”

“Ow.” The Doctor rubbed her new moustache. “Well? Do I look like a rough, tough minor?” 

“Er,” Peri said. 

“Do I look,” the Doctor said sternly, “like the kind of minor who would go to a spa? Because that’s the kind I am, Peri. A spa-going minor.”

“I guess,” Peri said. 

“Excellent,” the Doctor said. Having been reassured, she looked back at the mirror. “Ah yes. My own mother wouldn’t recognise me.” Largely, the Doctor knew, this was because she hadn’t been back to see her mother for many hundreds of years, and had been in a different body when she’d done so. Still – it was an excellent disguise nonetheless. 

She strode outside, patting her face and hands with coal dust. 

  

**Wild West**  (Ten/Simm)  
"This town," " the Master drawled, "ain't big enough for the two of us."

"No," the Doctor said. "Actually, Master, that's where you're wrong. In fact, it's more than big enough for the two of us,  _and_  all the people who already live here,  _and_ even some more people, as long as they're not too pushy - you know, big houses everywhere, swimming pools--"

 

**Cyberpunk**  (Ten/Simm again)  
All the humans in the world are linked to each other through Archangel, the circuits wired into their neural networks -- connected in a global web the Master can be part of or not as it pleases him. The Doctor isn't of this planet, so he hasn't got the upgrade yet, but he's clever - just as the Master is - and he can hack into it...

 

**Shapeshifters**  (Eight/Roberts)  
During the first few hours of rengeration, Time Lords can change their forms and features as often as they want. They tend not to do this because it uses up a lot of energy, and it suggests that they don't know what they're doing, which no Time Lord likes to admit, but this time the Doctor's regeneration has gone wrong enough that he doesn't remember what is or isn't a good idea. He also has no idea who he is. The initial rengeration form (slight, human frame; brown curly hair, expressive eyes) feels wrong and unfamiliar, so he changes - pulling himself, in and down into a new form (brown curly hair, expressive eyes, long powerful tail). The Master comes across him as the Doctor is exploring a pile of San Francisco trash with a series of delighted woofs. 

"Well, shit," the Master says - since he has no desire to either be a dog or screw one, and thus plans A and B are now both off the table.

 

**Pirates**  (Six/Ainley)  
"Ah ha!" the Doctor shouts enthusiastically. "Avast! Stand firm, and ready to be boarded."

"Intriguing, certainly,," the Master says, "but I'm not sure why  _I'm_  not the pirate, my dear." 

 

**…In SPACE!!**  (Five/Ainley)  
"Beautiful, isn't it?" the Doctor says as he looks out of the open TARDIS door at the universe. "I can certainly understand why you want it."

 

**Schoolfic**  (I've gone with non-Academy-era fic, as that feels like a cheat)

"It's too late, John," Harry sneered. "The votes are already being counted. There's nothing you can do - I'll be head boy, and there's nothing you can do about it." He stuck out his tongue for good measure. 

 

**Police/Firefighters**  (Six/Ainley)  
"You put that cat up there on purpose, didn't you?" the Doctor said, narrowing his eyes and pointing an accusing finger at the Master. 

"Now really, Doctor - would I do a thing like that?" the Master said. 

"Yes," the Doctor said. "You could, and you would, and I'm fairly sure you  _have_. I have no idea  _why_ , though. Except that you enjoy being purposefully despicable." 

 

**Urban Fantasy**  (Three/Master)(This is always the worst one...)

"Jenkins?" the Brigadier barked.

"Sir!" 

"Chap with wings, there. Five rounds rapid."

"Stop," the Doctor shouted as he and Jo ran down the driveway towards the assembled soldiers. "Those fairies can't help themselves - they're in thrall to the Master. And besides," he said, slowing to a halt, "bullets won't have any effect on them anyway. What you need is an incantation like this--"

 

**Harem**  (Six/Master)  
"This, er, isn't what it looks like," the Master said, trying to push the man still wrapped in a long scarf (and nothing else) behind a nearby screen. 

"Good," the Doctor said, noticing there was also a young blonde man who looked a bit like his previous incarnation would have done (if he'd worn a cricket coat and nothing else), and two older yet still distinguished gentlemen (one wearing a velvet coat, the other just a scarf around his neck) chatting with each other on the silk sheets of the Master's bed. "Because if it  _is_  what it looks like, then it's one of the saddest, most pathetic things I've ever seen in my life." From somewhere out of sight, someone (naked, the Doctor guessed, except for a large furry coat), was playing the recorder. "You don't even have a version of  _me_ ," the Doctor huffed, "not that it makes any difference."

"That isn't... entirely the case," the Master said, and the Doctor's face brightened a bit before he realised that he was still disgusted and this was still weird and still going on.

"It doesn't make any difference!" he said, though it did, obviously, a bit.


	14. Rome's Revenge!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> July 2014. Fics I'd never write. 
> 
> The beginning of a fic for JohnAmendAll for this prompt: 
> 
> 1\. Rome’s Revenge – Sara Craven  
> Thanks to a family feud, Tegan was being told she must make the Master her fiancé and then jilt him. She was amazed to find his innocence so sexy. Perhaps instead of jilting him, she should marry him!

"All right! So I get why someone has to pretend to marry this creep," Tegan said - stopping the Master achieving an actual marriage was part of thwarting his latest evil scheme, but the actual technicalities of what it was are too complicated to go into here. "What I don't understand is why it has to be me!"  
  
"The Master and I have a history," the Doctor said, looking awkward. "I don't think he'd find it very convincing if I agreed to marry him."  
  
"We're also both  _men,_ " Turlough pointed out. "I admit I used to sleep through most of my history lessons, but I don't  _think_  that was allowed in Ancient Rome."   
  
"Exactly," the Doctor said. "Yes. That too."  
  
"Well, can't we find a helpful local?" Tegan said desperately. "I met a nice girl called Lucilla down at the market-"  
  
The Doctor frowned at her. "Tegan, the Master is a very dangerous man. He's also manipulative, violent, and evil! I need someone I can trust, who can handle that sort of thing. He's already shown an interest in you. I'm  _sorry_ , but it  _has_  to be you."  
  
"All right," Tegan said sulkily.   
  
"Thank you," the Doctor said. "And, I  _promise_ , Turlough and I will be right behind you."  
  
"You mean, in the next building," Tegan said. "Meanwhile I'm having to pretend to be in love with a man you admit is dangerous, manipulative-"  
  
*  
  
 _"-handsome, charming and innocent of all charges,"_  the Master intoned as he stared into Tegan's hypnotised eyes. "When you wake up, you will believe you are in love with me. You will agree to our wedding this evening, and if the Doctor tries to intervene you will  _kill_  him. Do you understand?"  
  
"Yes, Master," Tegan said dully.  
  
The Master grinned. "Excellent. Oh, Doctor," he said, more to himself than to the hypnotised girl in front of him, "this time you have truly blundered. Sending your young companion in for the slaughter?" He tutted. "Instead, I've got you right where he want you all." And he began to chuckle.  
  
(spoilers - they defeat him in the end)


	15. Fics I'd never write: Benny and Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> July 2014, Name three fics you think I will never, ever, ever write. In return (and if inspired), I will attempt to write a snippet of one of them.
> 
> http://aralias.livejournal.com/778575.html

**Prompts from Lost Spook:**

1\. That epic Avon/Cally fixit (where they fly off into the, er, starlight to be together forever)  
  
2\. Star maidens fic.  
  
3\. Benny murders the Eighth Doctor.

 

**My response:**

my face actually went like this D: for the last one, but actually i know that it would probably go something like this:   
  
_"Oh Bernice," Braxiatel said sadly, "what_  have _you done?"_  
  
or alternately something like this-  
  
_"I really wish this hadn't been necessary," Benny said. She dropped the gun onto the floor. "Ugh. Did you even think about the trauma I'd undergo as a result of killing you? I'll probably have to speak to a therapist about this. For some time. That's not cheap. And you should know, because I'm sending you the bill, mate."_  
  
_"I'm surprised you don't already have a therapist," the Doctor said. He flicked his ears to check they really were as prominent as he thought they were. Yep. They were._  
  
_"I do," Benny said. "She's a nice lady. She's just helped me get passed the murder of my husband by my former best friend, and now we're working on how I was trapped in that other universe for years- What she doesn't need to hear is that I just murdered my best friend, even if it was for his own good, and he asked for it- She'll think I'm regressing."_  
  
_"Give me her number. I'll call and tell her it was an emergency," the Doctor said._  
  
_"Maybe you should call and make an appointment," Benny said. "She's free on Tuesdays. I'm not killing you again."_


End file.
